I hope you (won't) dance

I'm a lousy dancer. I have no rhythm. Most white men don’t. 

Years ago my wife, a good dancer, signed us up for ballroom lessons. After a couple of weeks the instructor took us aside and asked us –  OK, he asked me – to drop out. He said he was having to spend so much time correcting my technique that I was holding the class back. My wife was embarrassed and disgusted. I pointed out that I had done the best I could.

Two years ago we traveled to Argentina where – she should have known better – she insisted we take tango lessons. Same thing happened. (For the record, “No! No! No!” in Spanish is screamed the same way it is in English.)

Though I can't dance ballroom style, I have always been able to flap my arms and shuffle my feet whenever we're attending a function where the band or DJ is playing classic rock.

But I'm not going to do that any more either.

Our friends Tim and Jeane recently invited us to join them for the Tree-mendous Tuesday buffet at their country club here in Florida. Tim and Jeane are my age (61). Most members of their club are even older. A band was performing songs from the fifties and sixties. The dance floor was packed. My wife, I could tell from the way she was bouncing around in her seat, wanted to dance, so I stood up and took her hand to lead her out to the floor.

“Are you guys coming?” I asked Tim.

“God no," he said, indicating the dance floor filled with people flailing about to Mony Mony. “Old people fast-dancing. It's the ugliest thing I ever saw."

In that moment of clarity I realized ... he's right. 

There's nothing wrong with old folks slow-dancing to songs like Unchained Melody or When A Man Loves a Woman. It's sweet to see a couple with decades of shared history holding each other close, and to wonder if that's a song they danced to at their prom or wedding.

But old people convulsing to Heat Wave, Expressway to Your Heart or other frenetic oldies-but-goodies look ridiculous. Especially when it's obvious they’re not enjoying themselves and are just doing it to prove they still have some fire in their bellies. 

My idea of hell is being sentenced to watch for eternity what I was forced to witness at a restaurant the other night: a dance floor filled with senior citizens mechanically and joylessly doing the swing to Teenager in Love.

Each time we have a quarrel,

It almost breaks my heart.

Cause I'm so afraid,

That we will have to part.

Each night I ask the stars up above.

Why must I be a teenager in love?

Why, indeed? I got up and moved to the other side of the table so I wouldn't have to watch.

There are lots of ways those of us who remember watching American Bandstand on a black and white TV can shake our collective booty. We can bike, jog, hike, take walks, pump iron, do yoga, and go skiing – both cross-country and downhill. We can ice-skate, roller blade, swim laps, hunt, snorkel, surf, kayak, windsurf and play tennis, golf, volleyball, badminton, croquet or bocce. We can sky-dive, para-sail or climb mountains. Those with rhythm, grace and/or style can take up ballroom dancing and glide around like the folks on Dancing with the Stars.

But fast-dancing?

That's one thing you ain't gonna see this golden oldie doing ever again.